… of Mum’s best table linen,
the long runners, and napkins
stored in Grandma’s rosewood chest,
pressed to a razor-edge whilst damp,
fouled by the scent of naphthalene,
yes, quite toxic, and lavender,
not toxic but sickly, and very possibly
those non-drip Christmas candles
that melted while Mum and Dad
argued over whether the turkey
was thoroughly cooked or not.
There was always strife when
the scent of roasted turkey
filled the house. And sprouts.